


Depend and Be Dependable

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Chapter 8 spoilers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 04:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13473990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Mòrag refuses to die. Tora struggles with his relative lack of strength. Together, they might be able to get through this.





	Depend and Be Dependable

**Author's Note:**

> in case you haven't read the tags, spoilers for ch8!!

She awakens to searing pain.

Her head is throbbing. Loudly. For a split second, Mòrag isn’t even sure if she’s still falling or if she’s just that disoriented, and then a wave of nausea makes her double over and— a sharp pain lances through her side. She grits her teeth and gingerly puts a hand there, recoiling when she can feel the warmth of her own blood through her glove.

There’s a jagged piece of metal sticking out of her. Her hand is shaking. That deafening ringing in her ears gradually subsides, but there’s not much else to listen to, only the sounds of stormy winds and distant thunder.

“Brighid…?” Mòrag weakly gasps out, even though she knows Brighid isn’t there. She sits up, fighting against the pain shocking through her body in relentless waves, trying to steady herself as her vision adjusts.

It’s all slowly coming back to her in flashes. The ground crumbling. Everyone falling. Zeke wildly flailing. Pandoria holding onto his arm. Rex yelling for Pyra and Mythra. Poppi spinning in circles. Dromarch’s roars. Nia’s yowls.

Brighid shouting her name.

And then something slamming into Mòrag with a distinctive _meeeehhh!_

She softly hisses and clutches her head, squinting upwards at the murky green clouds and tall _things_ , buildings, jutting up like crumbling obelisks.

Mòrag stands and nearly falls over right away. But there’s no _time_ for that. She doesn’t know how long she’d been unconscious or how much blood she’d lost. The whipswords are gone. They must have been dislodged from her holsters during the descent. Another kind of striking pain hits her, and now she recalls clipping against one of those huge buildings after she fell past the Cloud Sea into this place.

It must have slowed her fall, but that’s also probably how this piece of metal had become embedded in her side. Unwilling to stay put and wait for someone to find her first, she limps off in a random direction. Impalements and fractures and broken bones won’t stop her.

She will not die here. Because if she did, Niall would be all alone, and Brighid would return to her Core Crystal in this place, and the chances of anyone ever finding her again…

No. There’s no point in thinking of the worst outcomes. No point in even being awed by the wondrously terrible sights of this ruined land.

She will not die. She _won’t._ But her head is spinning so badly and her body refuses to cooperate, not even her feet would drag any faster than this, and her eyes are fluttering shut—

“ _MEEEEEHHH!_ ”

Startled, Mòrag stumbles and falls to her knees with a pained grunt. Her legs are thankfully more or less intact. Her greaves had done their job of protecting her, but she’d still lost a great deal of blood from the wound in her side. A very familiar shape is running in her direction from down the street.

“Tora?!”

“Get away! Get away get away get awaaaay!” Tora is shouting, and now Mòrag sees the lurching creature in pursuit. Her eyes widen.

“Tora, wait!”

“Mòrag! Is that really Mòrag?!” Tora’s practically crying in relief as he runs straight towards her… and bringing that monster along with him. Mòrag internally curses. She’s unarmed, and bleeding, and on the verge of losing consciousness— and Brighid would scold her so badly for pushing herself in this state, but Tora and that monster are getting closer and she’s got no choice.

Summoning her last remnants of energy, Mòrag snatches a heavy chunk of rock from the ground and pushes herself up to her feet.

“Steel yourself, Tora! Do not falter!”

“B-But it too scary! Poppi not here to help Tora! Tora can’t fight by himself all alone!” Tora wails, and now Mòrag sees that he’d apparently lost his weapon as well.

Shit.

She can see the monster more clearly now. It’s a grotesque, twisted thing that reeks of ancient rot, parts of it glowing in an unnervingly familiar shade of blue. It looks straight at Mòrag with what she assumes are its eyes and turns to her.

There’s no time to pep-talk Tora into fighting. She clenches her teeth and lunges at the creature with no hesitation, striking it hard with the rock. One of its arms lashes out, its movements clumsy enough for her to dodge with ease. She hits it again, and again, all of her usual grace absent in favor of barbarically smashing at it as hard as she can, every fiber of muscle in her body screaming in protest. The metal in her side shifts and Mòrag’s grip on the rock slackens at that bit of excruciating pain.

Her makeshift weapon falls to the ground with a heavy clunk. She has no seconds to spare to pick it up— the monster, though weakened by the bludgeoning, is winding back to strike at her again. Mòrag’s vision is beginning to blur at the edges.

“Mòraaaag!!”

“ _I will not die here!_ ” She roars, and _punches_ the monster with every last bit of strength left within her being. Its face gives way with an unpleasant crunchy mushiness, like she’d just punched a rotting fruit, and the last thing she sees is that blue light as she falls on top of the creature with her fist still stuck inside its head.

But it’s not dead. One of its arms reaches around to painfully squeeze her in a crushing grip, and she suddenly can’t breathe. Everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

_She’s dying. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. They’re all alone in this beautiful field that’s littered with dead Drivers and dull Core Crystals._

_Brighid is cradling her head in her lap, muttering words that Mòrag can’t quite make out._

_“Please, hear my selfish wish…” she mumbles, her arm feeling like lead when she tries to lift it to touch Brighid’s Core Crystal. “I don’t… I don’t want you to forget me, Brighid…”_

_“I won’t,” Brighid says, tightly grasping her trembling hand. “Because you’re not going to die here.”_

_She looks down to the deep gash in Mòrag’s side and gently puts her head down on the ground. Mòrag can only lie there as she burns her uniform away to expose the wound. Before she can say anything else, Brighid pushes a stick between her teeth._

_“Bite it.”_

_She does. And she screams through it when Brighid presses a searing hot hand against the wound, the pain dragging on for what seems like eternity rather than only a couple seconds, body burning and vision blurring as Brighid cauterizes the wound shut._

 

* * *

 

A dream. Or a memory? Or... either way, the pain is still lingering, and when Mòrag’s eyes snap open she realizes that excruciating pain had been very real.

Tora is standing directly over her, staring at her face.

“Oh! Mòrag awake! Thank goodness, Tora so scared that Mòrag would die…!” He flaps both his arms and wings, taking a step back. “Tora been keeping watch over Mòrag! Cleaned up wound as best he could! It not enough, Nia and Dromarch best for that sort of thing, but this is all that can be done for now.”

Mòrag props herself up on her elbows with difficulty and looks down at herself. An uneven patch of her uniform had been roughly cut away. That piece of metal is no longer sticking out of her; the wound is exposed, but burned shut.

“You managed to cauterize it.” She looks to him incredulously. “How?”

“Oh, it not so hard. Tora have extra bits of this and that in pouches to make quick fire.”

“So the monster…”

“W-Would not let go of Mòrag.” Tora shivers and wraps his wings against his body. “Tora hit it again and again until it did. Then, burned it up into nothing before it could bite tasty Nopon chunk out of Tora!”

Mòrag slowly lies back down and stares up at that cloudy, stormy sky. She closes her eyes and hears Tora repeat her name a couple times in alarm, and lifts a hand to reassure him that she hadn’t just died on the spot. “I believe you saved my life, Tora. Thank you.”

“Why is Mòrag thanking Tora?!” Tora tearfully grasps her sleeve. “Tora so useless against monster! Didn’t do a single thing, all while Mòrag bravely attacked with nothing but rock and fists…! Tora should be thanking Mòrag, not other way around!”

“Please don’t get so distraught over it. Anyone would have done the same in a situation like that.”

“Anyone except Tora…”

She opens her eyes to look at him. “There’s no shame in running from a monster you don’t believe you can defeat. Oftentimes, caution must take priority over bravado.”

“Then what about Mòrag, who rushed at monster with big rock?”

“That… mmh.” Yes, Brighid would certainly have words for her for that bit of recklessness. “You were frightened, Tora. That’s understandable. My first instinct was to protect you. I acted before thinking, and I don’t regret it.”

Tora goes silent and sits on the ground beside her, looking away. In shame, or what, Mòrag can’t quite tell, but his unusually somber silence doesn’t settle well with her. She pushes herself up into a sitting position with a grunt.

“We must find the others, as well as our weapons. As effective as bludgeoning that thing with a rock was, I think I prefer swords,” she dryly says, pleased when her quip gets a small smile out of Tora.

“Yesyes, makes sense. Can Mòrag walk okay, though?”

“I’m much tougher than I look. I’ll be fine.” Sort of a lie, maybe. This time, when she stands up, her head isn’t spinning and it doesn’t feel like she’s on the verge of death. But there’s still quite a lot of pain shooting through her body, and her throat is uncomfortably dry. She realizes she’s starving as well. It’d been quite some time since any of them had had food or water, and she suspects Tora feels the same.

“... This place gives Tora creeps,” he pipes up after they’ve been walking for some time. “It would be super cool if not for scary monsters running around, actually. And maybe without storm and ugly green clouds, too.”

“Morytha, the land of fairy tales and myths.” Mòrag keeps one arm lightly wrapped around herself. She’s trying not to visibly limp. “The fact that these buildings still stand is testament to the incredible technology of the ancient people who lived here.”

“Hmm, if Tora could learn what kind of materials they are, could be very useful in Poppi upgrades.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Discuss it with her when you two are reunited.” The end of her sentence trails off onto a cautious silence. She crouches (her wound sings, but Mòrag grits her teeth through it) and motions for Tora to duck into a darkened building with her. The metal gate covering the entrance is peeled up in a corner, leaving a small and very dark opening just big enough for them to fit through. At first he seems hesitant, but then he hears the sound of distinctly non-human footsteps rounding the corner.

They quickly move inside and watch a group of six— no seven— of the same monster that had been chasing Tora move past them. Neither of them move until they can no longer hear the creatures.

Only then does Mòrag look behind them into the darkness. No blue glowing. Good. She stands up and feels Tora grab onto her leg.

“It’s alright. We’re the only ones in here.”

“What is this place…?” Tora loudly whispers.

Her eyes are slowly adjusting to the dark. There are shelves that only come up to her shoulders, some empty but most still carrying… some things. She walks over to get a closer look. Tora reluctantly lets go of her leg, but he takes hold of her coattails as he follows her.

“A shop, I believe.” She picks up something at random from one of the shelves. “It’s a canister.”

But smaller and smoother in shape than the canisters usually seen in salvaging equipment. It fits snugly in the palm of her hand.

“You’re right! More canisters down here, too! Does Mòrag think that maybe there could be yumyums?!”

“I doubt anything edible would be left after thousands of years of decay.” She sighs and puts the canister down. Even if there was a chance of some food remaining after how long its been, the very faded bits of writing left around are in an unfamiliar language. As far as she knows, the canisters could contain poison.

“Let’s keep moving, Tora. There’s no point in lingering in here.”

Tora is stuffing some of the canisters into his pouches. Mòrag lightly nudges him with a foot. “Put those back.”

“Meh? But why?”

But he senses that now isn’t a good time to be arguing and reluctantly places them back on the shelf. They exit the store the same way they came in. Tora listens to the winds very carefully before they pick a direction to head off to.

They find Tora’s Drill Shield just lying in the middle of a street not long after they had left the store. He cries out in relief and rushes to pick it up, reverently stroking the metal with his wings.

“Not a dent! Not a single dent! Tora so relieved weapon found in one piece!”

“But no Poppi,” Mòrag muses, trying not to sound disappointed that her whipswords weren’t with the Drill Shield by some unlikely miracle. “Regardless, this is good news. You’ll be able to fight properly, now.”

“Emmmm…” Tora suddenly seems a whole lot less excited. “Maybe Mòrag already forget, but Tora not have Poppi with him… so how can Tora fight? He and Poppi nothing at all like Mòrag and Brighid, who can fight separate.”

“I can’t very well continue on with using rocks as bludgeons. What if we are attacked again? Would you really stand aside and do nothing just as you did the first time?” Mòrag does know she’s coming off a bit too harsh, but. “Perhaps it’s true that Brighid and I are a unique case, but Drivers in general should not rely on their Blades so strongly, just as Blades should not be entirely dependent on Drivers.”

“But without Poppi, All Tora is is Nopon with big fancy weapon!” He holds up the Drill Shield. “Tora and Poppi not like other Drivers and Blades. Tora… Tora not quite real Driver, just as Poppi still Artificial Blade.”

Damn this. She never considered herself to be particularly adept at giving motivational speeches, but Mòrag can’t just do nothing when Tora looks so despondent. She crouches down and awkwardly pats his head. Her glove is still encrusted with her blood. “Your bond is deep, but it should not be what defines you.”

“Whatnow?”

“To have made it this far is proof of your strength. You survived and saved my life, even while Poppi was not with you.”

“Yes, but…” Tora bashfully scratches his wings together. “Of course Tora could not let Mòrag die! Mòrag still owes many Tasty Sausages for that time when she attacked Tora and friends in Mor Ardain over Lila confusion!”

“Hah…” How very _Tora,_ to bring such a thing up. She straightens up and they continue on their way.

Mòrag’s head throbs and she painfully squeezes her eyes shut, swaying a bit more with every step. By this point, it’s more likely going to be the dehydration that’s going to do her in if not the blood loss.

They need to find Nia and Dromarch.

“Is Mòrag okay? Don’t look very good.”

No response. There’s a soft thump beside him as Mòrag collapses.

 

* * *

 

He’s frightened. Even more frightened than when he bounced off a cluster of tall buildings all the way down to the ground, more frightened than when he found himself in an unfamiliar land with no weapon nor Poppi, even more than when that monster had appeared and began chasing him.

Tora helplessly shakes Mòrag by the shoulders, lightly patting her face. She’s so pale. Humans aren’t supposed to be that pale, he thinks.

“Wake up! Wake up…!” He doesn’t know how to fix humans. Robots and engineering are his expertise, not flesh and blood of an entirely different species. He cries out in relief when Mòrag mumbles something, but her eyes won’t open and he can’t figure out what she’s saying.

“Mòrag can’t die here! Not in a place like this! Mòrag is much too strong for that!” Tora throws his belt off to the ground and frantically searches through his pockets and pouches. But there’s nothing for a dying human. Only scraps and parts for Poppi and— a half-eaten Cinnopon Roll.

Who knows how long it had even been in there?

“I-If Mòrag die under Tora’s watch, Brighid will set Tora on fire! Here! Eat something!”

Nevermind that Brighid wouldn’t even be around if Mòrag died, but he’s hardly thinking straight right now. He tears the (very stale) Cinnopon Roll apart and crams a piece into Mòrag’s mouth.

She immediately spits it out.

“Mòrag is alive!!”

“I’m… fine, Tora.” Her breathing is shaky. Her eyes still won’t open. “Nia… Dromarch…”

She whispers something else at the end. It might have been Brighid’s name. Tora tearfully secures his tool belt back on and flails for a moment. More monsters could show up. Mòrag might not make it. Did anyone else make it? Rex and Pyra and Mythra, surely. Poppi, too. Zeke's not _that_ unlucky. Pandoria was with him. Nia and Dromarch… well, of course. Blades aren’t squishy.

It’s just normal humans that are squishy. Like Mòrag.

“Meeeeh…!” Tora whines, and with no other choice he carefully pushes his wings underneath her body and hoists her up above him. Her head rolls back, limp, and her feet drag along the ground, but this is all he can think of. Good enough. “Okay! L-Leave it to Tora! Tora find friends, and friends will make Mòrag good as new!”

She’s still mumbling but she isn’t struggling or protesting to being carried like this. Tora sets off as fast as he can while carrying his Drill Shield _and_ a grown Ardainian, extremely unsure where to even begin looking. If he yells, monsters might hear. But if he doesn’t, there’s a chance he could pass right by one of their friends. What to do?

Mòrag would surely have an idea, but she can’t exactly do anything right now.

Which is especially terrible because yet another monster appears with impeccable timing, lurching towards them.

“Mehmeh—!!”

Fear strikes his heart all over again, but Mòrag’s words echo in his mind over and over again. What does it truly mean, for a Driver and Blade to depend on one another? Maybe... each one must be dependable. Maybe he gets it now. It all goes in circles. He carefully puts Mòrag down.

“What’re you…” she slurs, fighting to keep her eyes open.

“Tora not run! Tora… Tora always want to be like Rex-Rex. And like Mòrag, too! Tora want to be as good a Driver as all friends!” He holds up the Drill Shield, ready to face the incoming monster. “If Tora can be strong even alone, then he will be _ultra strong_ with Poppi! That how Mòrag and Brighid do it, yes?”

“Urrghh.” She rolls onto her side and vomits.

“M-Meh.”

The last thing Mòrag sees is Tora charging forward and slamming the Drill Shield into the monster, then a brilliant white blur leaping in from the side and tackling it down. A very familiar roar shakes the air. Mòrag hears someone calling her name.

 

* * *

 

_”You’ll be alright,” Brighid whispers, holding her hand and stroking her palm with her thumb. Everything hurts. It still feels like she’s being burned. Mòrag winces and tries to sit up, but Brighid gently pushes her back down. She recognizes her surroundings as the Base Infirmary, but no one else is around._

_“Rest.”_

_“Brighid…”_

_“Did you feel the terror in my heart?” She brings Mòrag’s hand up to her chest, placing it over her Core Crystal. “The thought of losing myself, of losing you—“_

_“I’m sorry.” Tears well up in the corners of Mòrag’s eyes. Brighid lowers her head to let their foreheads touch. “Robbing you of your memories is the last thing I would ever want to do.”_

_“I know,” Brighid whispers, wiping her tears away. “Then… promise me you won’t die, Lady Mòrag.”_

_“I promise.”_

 

* * *

 

“ _—Idiot!_ ” Nia is saying as she washes Mòrag’s body through with her healing power. “Running around like it’s just nothing but a flesh wound! One idiot’s enough to deal with! Well, it could be two, really, but Shellhead belongs in his own special category. But you, Mòrag?!”

“My Lady, have some sympathy for the wounded.”

“Tora said she nearly bloody _died!_ No one in their right mind should’ve been moving around with injuries like these!”

Mòrag blinks. Her head is no longer plagued by nauseating dizziness and she can feel the burning fatigue in her body fading away by the second. Nia is kneeling beside her in her Blade form, hands suspended over her body.

“… Hello, Nia.”

“Yeah, yeah, good morning to you too. _Idiot._ By the way, I fixed all your ribs. They were broken, but I guess you didn't care.”

"Forgive me for my foolhardiness," Mòrag says, unable to stop herself from smiling. Nia just huffs, but she's no longer berating her. 

“Mòrag all better now!!” Tora cries out, flinging himself at Mòrag to hug her when she sits up (to Nia’s vocal disapproval). “Tora did it! Did Mòrag see?! Tora fought off monster all alone, even without Poppi!”

“Who’re you trying to kid, Tora? Dromarch jumped in before the battle even properly started.”

She’s too tired to even think of any sort of proper congratulations, so Mòrag just pats Tora. Nia roughly prods her shoulder and wordlessly points to Dromarch.

Finally, Mòrag notices that Dromarch is wearing her hat. It’s been set over one of his ears at a crooked angle. He bows his head, apparently embarrassed, as she stares in bemusement.

“We, er, found your personal effects not long after our landing. My Lady had entrusted them to me to keep them safe.”

“Hey, y’mind if Dromarch keeps the hat on a little longer? I think it looks great on him,” Nia says with a sharp little grin. Dromarch sighs, and turns to allow Mòrag to take her whipswords from where they’d been strapped to his armor.

“Heh… thank you.” She smiles in relief and pats Tora again. He’s still trying to babble about how he’d done so good, how he was so brave, but Mòrag isn’t really listening.

Death brushed by so closely that she had seen its void black maw. The true terror of her situation is finally settling in and she finds her hands are shaking. She could’ve died. Should’ve, maybe. Not even Mor Ardain’s most powerful Driver could have survived a fall from such a height without the protection of her Blade.

And if she had died, Brighid…

“You alright?” Nia’s waving a hand in front of her face. She plucks the hat from Dromarch and firmly places it upon Mòrag’s head. “There. Now you look whole again.”

Mòrag looks down at the whipswords on her lap. The blades clatter against her armor when she tries to pick one up. Why won’t her hands stop shaking?

“Lady Mòrag,” Dromarch sits beside her with a wordless invitation for her to lean against him, which she gladly accepts.

She can’t even remember if the promise had been real or not, anymore.

“It okay, Mòrag!” Tora pats her arm. “It okay to be scared! Mòrag say exact same thing to Tora, right?”

“Did you really?” Nia snorts.

“Something along those lines…” Mòrag sighs. She had said it was okay to run away from things in some situations, but the general message is still about the same.

“Tora understand completely,” he says. “Tora feel like littlepon all over again when he landed all alone without Poppi! Maybe cried a little, at first…”

“Peed your pants too, did ya?”

“Mehmehmeh!! Nia so cruel! Tora do no such thing!”

Their banter is fading into the background. Dromarch slowly blinks at Mòrag in quiet understanding and lies down, allowing her to sink more comfortably against his fur. She closes her eyes, but can only see the look on Brighid’s face in that field where she had been bleeding and dying. Their dependence on each other isn’t so fatally wound together, she would prefer to imagine. They’re fine on their own. Brighid can take care of herself, just as Mòrag is. Or, should.

That was the feeling— helplessness. Seeing Tora freaking out about not having Poppi with him had only somehow reminded her of her own shortcomings. Mòrag isn’t certain that she would’ve liked to come to these realizations.

“Your worry is palpable, Lady Mòrag,” Dromarch quietly rumbles. Nia and Tora had become completely distracted with trading barbs and are no longer paying them any mind. “Are you thinking of Lady Brighid?”

“Yes. It’s a foolish concern. She’ll be fine, even without me.”

“Ah, of course. Such is the power of the Jewel of Mor Ardain.” Dromarch rests his head on his paws. “Your tenacity is nothing to scoff at, either.”

“Well…” Mòrag places her hands upon her swords. The crystals glow with a comforting warmth, but it’s only a reminder that Brighid isn’t here. “I think I promised her that I would not die.”

“And what brought you to make such a promise?”

“... I was afraid.”

She isn’t even sure why she’s telling all this to Dromarch. Much to her gratefulness, he doesn’t pry any further and allows the conversation to end there. Nia is still playfully picking on Tora. When they’re like this, it’s almost as if there’s no longer any urgency to go find the others.

Even Tora no longer looks so fearful.

“We should go.”

“Yes,” Dromarch agrees.

But neither of them move. Just a few more minutes of peaceful rest wouldn’t hurt.


End file.
